Anderson, Poul - Hokas Pokas

178 Pages·2016·0.64 MB·English

by  Anderson Poul

- Chapter 1
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I.
Full Pack (Hokas Wild)

Prologue
From the Encyclopaedia Galactica, 11th edition:

TOKA: Brackney's Star III. The sun (NSC 7-190853426) is of type G2, located in Region Deneb,
approximately 503 light-years from Sol. . . . The third planet appears Earthlike, to a sufficiently
superficial observer . . . There are three small moons, their League names being Uha, Buha, and Huha.
As is customary in the case of inhabited planets, these derive from a major autochthonous language (see
NOMENCLATURE: Astronomical). It was discovered too late that they mean, respectively, "Fat,"
"Drunk," and "Sluggish." . . .
At least "Toka" means "Earth." However, indigenous tongues have become little more than historical
curiosities, displaced by whatever Terrestrial speech suits the role of the moment. . . .
Two intelligent species evolved, known today as the Hokas and the Slissii. The former are quasi-
mammalian, the latter reptiloid. . . . Conflict was ineluctable. . . . It terminated after human explorers had
come upon the system and the Interbeing League took charge. . . . In effect, the Slissii were bought out.
Abandoning their home world en masse, they became free wanderers throughout civilization, much to its
detriment. (See SLISSII. See also COMPUTER CRIME; CONFIDENCE GAMES; EMBEZZLEMENT;
GAMBLING: Crooked; MISREPRESENTATION; POLITICS.)
The ursinoid Hokas generally stayed in place. No nation of theirs refused to accept League tutelage,
which of course has had the objective of raising their level of civilization to a point where autonomy and
full membership can be granted. Rather, they all agreed with an eagerness which should have warned the
Commissioners. . . .
The fact is that the Hokas are the most imaginative race of beings in known space, and doubtless in
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unknown space too. Any role that strikes their fancy they will play, individually or as a group, to the
limits of the preposterous and beyond. This does not imply deficiency of intellect, for they are
remarkably quick to learn. It does not even imply that they lose touch with reality; indeed, they have
been heard to complain that reality often loses touch with them. It does demonstrate a completely
protean personality. Added to that are a physical strength and energy astonishing in such comparatively
small bodies. Thus, in the course of a few short years, the "demon teddy bears," to use a popular phrase
for them, have covered their planet with an implausible kaleidoscope of harlequin societies describable
only by some such metaphor as the foregoing. . . .

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Framed
Title: Hokas Pokas
Author: Poul Anderson & Gordon R. Dickson
ISBN: 0-671-57858-8
© 1983 by Poul Anderson & Gordon R.
Copyright:
Dickson
Publisher: Baen Books
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- Chapter 2
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Full Pack
When one is a regular ambassador to a civilized planet with full membership in the Interbeing League, it
is quite sufficient to marry a girl who is only blond and beautiful. However, a plenipotentiary, guiding a
backward world along the tortuous path to modern culture and full status, needs a wife who is also
competent to handle the unexpected.
Alexander Jones had no reason to doubt that his Tanni met all the requirements of blondness, beauty,
and competence. Neither did she. After a dozen years of Toka, he did not hesitate to leave her in charge
while he took a native delegation to Earth and arranged for the planet's advancement in grade. And for a
while things went smoothly—as smoothly, at least, as they can go on a world of eager, energetic teddy
bears with imaginations active to the point of autohypnosis.
Picture her, then, on a sunny day shortly after lunch, walking through her official residence in the city
Mixumaxu. Bright sunshine streamed through the glassite wall, revealing a pleasant view of cobbled
streets, peaked roofs, and the grim towers of the Bastille. (This was annually erected by a self-appointed
Roi Soleil, and torn down again by happy sans-culottes every July 14.) Tanni Jones' brief tunic and long
golden hair were in the latest Bangkok fashion, even on this remote outpost, and her slim tanned figure
would never be outmoded and she was comfortably aware of the fact. She had just checked the nursery,
finding her two younger children safe at play. A newly arrived letter from her husband was tucked into
her bosom. It announced in one sentence that his mission had been successful; thereafter several pages
were devoted to more important matters, such as his imminent return with a new fur coat and he wished
he could have been in the envelope and meanwhile he loved her madly, passionately, etc. She was
murmuring to herself. Let us listen.
"Damn and blast it to hell, anyway! Where is that little monster?"
As she passed the utility room, a small, round-bellied, yellow-furred ursinoid popped out. This was
Carruthers. His official title was Secretary-in-Chief-to-the-Plenipotentiary, which meant whatever
Carruthers decided it should mean. Tanni felt relieved that today he was dressed merely in anachronistic
trousers, spats, coat, and bowler hat, umbrella furled beneath one arm, and spoke proper Oxford English.
Last week it had been a toga, and he had brought her messages written in Latin with Greek characters;
he had also buttonholed every passerby with the information that she, Tanni, was above suspicion.
"The newsfax sheet, madam," he bowed. "Just came off the jolly old printer, don't y'know."
"Oh. Thanks." She took the bulletin and swept her eyes down it. Sensational tidings from Earth
Headquarters: the delegates from Worben and Porkelans accused of conspiracy; Goldfarb's Planet
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awarded to Bagdadburgh; a League-wide alert for a Starflash space yacht which had been seen carrying
the Tertiary Receptacle of Wisdom of Sanussi and the as-yet-unidentified dastards who had kidnaped
him from his planet's Terrestrial embassy; commercial agreement governing the xisfthikl traffic signed
between Jruthn and Ptrfsk—Tanni handed it back. There were too many worlds for anyone to remember;
none of the names meant a thing to her.
"Have you seen young Alex?" she inquired.
Carruthers screwed a monocle into one beady black eye and tapped his short muzzle with the umbrella
handle. "Why, yes, I do believe so, eh, what, what, what?"
"Well, where is he?"
"He asked me not to tell, madam." Carruthers eyed her reproachfully. "Couldn't peach on him, now
could I? Old School Tie and all that sort of bally old . . ."
Tanni stalked off with the secretary still bleating behind her. True, she thought, her children did attend
the same school which educated the adult Hokas, but . . . Hah! In way, it was too bad Alex was returning
so soon. She had long felt that he didn't take a firm enough line with his mercurial charges. He was too
easily reduced to gibbering bewilderment. Now she was made of sterner stuff, and—in a Boadicean
mood, she swept through a glassite passageway to the flitter garage.
Yes, there was her oldest son, Alexander Braithwaite Jones, Jr., curled up on the front seat with his nose
buried in an ancient but well-preserved folio volume. She much regretted giving it to him. Her idea had
been that he could carry it under one arm and enjoy it between bouts of healthful outdoor play, rather
than having to sit hunched over a microset; but all he did was read it, sneaking off to places like—
"Alexander!"
The boy, a nine-year-old, tanglehaired pocket edition of his father, started guiltily. "Oh, hello, Mom," he
smiled. It quite melted her resolve.
"Now, Alex," said Tanni in a reasonable tone, "you know you ought to be out getting some exercise.
You've already read those Jungle Books a dozen times."
"Aw, golly, Mom," protested the younger generation. "You give me a book and then you won't let me
read it!"
"Alexander!" Boadicea had returned in full armor. "You know perfectly well what I mean. Now I told
you to—"
"Madam," squeaked a voice, "the devil's to pay!"
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Tanni yipped and jumped. Remembering herself, she turned in a suitably dignified manner to see
Carruthers, hastily clad in pith helmet and fake walrus mustache.
"Message on the transtype just came," said the Hoka. "From Injah, don't y' know. Seems a bit urgent."
Tanni snatched the paper he extended and read:

FROM: Captain O'Neil of the Black Tyrone
TO: Rt. Hon. Plen. A. Jones
SUBJECT: UFO (Unidentified Flying Object) identified. Your Excellency:

While burying dead and bolting beef north of the Kathun road, received word from native
scout of UFO crashed in jungle nearby, containing three beasts of unknown origin.
Interesting, what?
Yr. Humble & Obt. Svt., etc.,
"Crook" O'Neil
For a moment Tanni had a dreamlike sense of unreality. Then, slowly, she translated the Hokaese.
Yes . . . there were some Hokas from this northern hemisphere who had moved down to the sub-
continent due south which the natives had gleefully rechristened India, and set themselves up as
Imperialists. The Indians were quite happy to cooperate, since it meant that they could wear turbans and
mysterious expressions. Vaguely she recalled Kipling's Ballad of Boh Da Thone. It dealt with Burma, to
be sure, but if consistency is the virtue of little minds, then the Hokas were very large-minded indeed.
India was mostly Kipling country, with portions here and there belonging to Clive, the Grand Mogul,
and lesser lights.
The UFO must be a spaceship and the "beasts," of course, its crew, from some other planet. God alone
knew what they would think if the Indians located them first and assumed they were—what would
Hokas convinced they were Hindus, Pathans, and Britishers imagine alien space travelers to be?
"Carruthers!" said Tanni sharply. "Has there been any distress call on the radio?"
"No, madam, there has not. And damme, I don't like it. Don't like it at all. When I was with Her
Majesty's Very Own Royal, Loyal, and Excessively Brave Fifth Fusiliers, I—"
Tanni's mind worked swiftly. This was just the sort of situation in which Alex, Sr., was always getting
involved and coming off second best. It was her chance to show him how these matters ought to be
handled.
"Carruthers," she snapped, "you and I will take the flitter and go to the rescue of these aliens. And I want
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it clearly understood that—"
"Mom! Can I go? Can I go, huh, Mom, can I?"
It was Alex, Jr., hopping up and down with excitement, his eyes shining.
"No," began Tanni. "You stay here and read your book and—" She checked herself, aware of the pitfall.
Countermanding her own orders! Here was a heaven-sent opportunity to get the boy out of the house and
interested in something new—like, for example, these castaways. They were clearly beings of authority
or means, important beings, or they could not afford a private spaceship. There was no danger involved;
Toka's India was a land of congenial climate, without any life-forms harmful to man.
"You can go," she told Alex severely, "if you'll do exactly as I say at all times. Now that means exactly."
"Yes, yes, yes. Sure, Mom, sure."
"All right, then," said Tanni. She ran back into the house, making hasty arrangements with the servants,
while Carruthers set the flitter's autopilot to locating the British bivouac. In minutes, two humans and
one Hoka were skyborne.
* * *
The camp proved to be a collection of tents set among fronded trees and tangled vines, drowsy under the
late afternoon sun. A radio and a transtype were the only modern equipment, a reluctant concession to
the plenipotentiary's program of technological education. They stood at the edge of the clearing, covered
with jungle mold, while the Black Tyrone, a hundred strong, drilled with musket, fife, and drum.
Captain O'Neil was a grizzled, hard-bitten Hoka in shorts, tunic, and bandolier. He. limped across the
clearing, pith helmet in hand, as Tanni emerged from the flitter with Alex and Carruthers.
"Honored, ma'am," he bowed. "Pardon my one-sided gait, ma'am. Caught a slug in the ulnar bone
recently." (Tanni knew very well he had not; there was no war on Toka, and anyway the ulnar bone is in
the arm.) "Now a slug that is hammered from telegraph wire—ah, a book?"
His eyes lit up with characteristic enthusiasm, and Tanni, looking around, discovered the reason in her
son's arms.
"Alex!" she said. "Did you bring that Jungle Books thing along?" His downcast face told her that he had.
"I'm not going to bother with it any longer. You hand that right over to Captain O'Neil and let him keep
it for you till we leave for home again."
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"Awwwww, Mom!"
"Right now!"
"—is a thorn in the flesh and a rankling fire," murmured Captain O'Neil. "Ah, thank you, m'boy. Well,
well, what have we here? The Jungle Books, by Rudyard Kipling himself! Never seen 'em before."
Humming a little tune, he opened the volume.
"Now, where is that UFO?" demanded Tanni. "Have you rescued its crew yet?"
"No, ma'am," said the Captain, with his nose between the pages. "Going to go look for 'em this morning,
but we were hanging Danny Deever and—" His voice trailed off into a mumble.
Tanni compressed her lips. "Well, we shall have to find them," she clipped. "Is it far? Should we go
overland or take the flitter?"
"Er . . . yes, ma'am? Ha, hum," said O'Neil, closing the book reluctantly but marking the place with a
furry forefinger. "Not far. Overland, I would recommend. You'd find landing difficult in our jungles here
in the Seeonee Hills—"
"The what?"
"Er . . . I mean north of the Kathun road. A wolf . . . I mean, a native scout brought us the word. Perhaps
you'd care to talk to him, ma'am?"
"I would," said Tanni. "Right away."
O'Neil shouted for Gunga Din and sent him off to look, then dove back into the volume. Presently
another Hoka slouched from behind a tent. He was of the local race, which had fur of midnight black,
but was otherwise indistinguishable from the portly northern variety. Unless, of course, you specified his
costume: turban, baggy trousers, loose shirt, assorted cutlery thrust into a sash, and a flaming red false
beard. He salaamed.
"What's your name?" asked Tanni.
"Mahbub Ali, memsahib," replied the newcomer. "Horse trader."
"You saw the ship land?"
"Yes, memsahib. I had stopped to patch my bridles and count my gear—whee, a book!"
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"It's mine!" said O'Neil, pulling it away from him.
"Oh. Well, ah—" Mahbub Ali edged around so that he could read over the Captain's shoulder. "I, er, saw
the thing flash through the air and went to see. I, um, glimpsed three beasts of a new sort coming out,
but, um, they were back inside before I could . . . By that time the moon was shining into the cave where
I lived and I said to myself, `Augrh!' I said, `it is time to hunt again—' "
"Gentlebeings!" cried Tanni. The book snapped shut and two fuzzy faces looked dreamily up at her. "I
shall want the regiment to escort me to that ship tomorrow."
"Why, er, to be sure, ma'am," said O'Neil vaguely. "I'll tell the pack and we'll move out at dawn."
A couple of extra tents were set up in the clearing, and there was a supper at which the humans shared
top honors with Danny Deaver. (A Hoka's muscles are so strong that hanging does not injure him.)
When night fell, with subtropical swiftness, Alex crawled into one tent and Tanni into the other. She lay
for a while, thinking cheerfully that her theories of management were bearing fruit. True, there had been
some small waverings on the part of the autochthones, but she had kept things rolling firmly in the
proper direction. Why in the Galaxy did her husband insist it was so difficult to . . .
The last thing she remembered as she drifted into sleep was the murmur of a voice from the campfire.
"Crook" O'Neil had assembled his command and was reading to them. . . .
* * *
She blinked her eyes open to dazzling sunlight. Dawn was hours past, and a great stillness brooded over
the clearing. More indignant than alarmed, she scrambled out of her sleeping bag, threw on tunic and
shoes, and went into the open.
The camp was deserted. Uniforms and equipment were piled by the cold ashes of the fire, and a flying
snake was opening a can of bully beef with its saw-edged beak. For a moment the world wavered before
her.
"Alex!" she screamed.
Running from tent to tent, she found them all empty. She remembered wildly that she did not even have
a raythrower along. Sobbing, she dashed toward the flitter—get an aerial view—
Bush crackled, and a round black-nosed head thrust cautiously forth. Tanni whirled, blinked, and
recognized the gray-shot pelt of O'Neil.
"Captain!" she gasped. "What's happened? Come out this minute!"
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The brush parted, and the Hoka trotted out on all fours, attired in nothing but his own fur.
"Captain O'Neil!" wailed Tanni. "What's the meaning of this?"
The native reached up, got the hem of her tunic between his jaws, and tugged. Then he let go and moved
toward the canebrake, looking back at her.
"Captain," said Tanni helplessly. She followed him for a moment, but stopped. Her voice grew shrill.
"I'm not moving another centimeter till you explain this—this outrageous—" The Hoka waddled back to
her. "Well, speak up! Don't whine at me! Stand up and talk like a . . . like a . . . a Captain. And stop
licking my hand!"
O'Neil headed into the jungle. Tanni gave up. Throttling her fears, she went after him. Colorful birds
whistled overhead, and flowers drooped on long vines and snagged in her hair. Presently she found
herself on a trail. It ran for some two kilometers, an uneventful trip except for the pounding of her heart
and the Captain's tendency to dash off after small game.
At the end, they reached a meadow surrounding a large flat-topped rock. The Black Tyrone were there.
Like their commander, they had stripped off their uniforms and now frisked about in the grass, tumbling
like puppies and snarling between their teeth. She caught fragments of continuous conversation:
"—Sambhur belled, once, twice, and again . . . wash daily from nose-tip to tail-tip . . . the meat is very
near the bone—" and other interesting though possibly irrelevant information.
Rolling about, Tanni's eyes found her son. He was seated on top of the rock, wearing only a wreath of
flowers and a kitchen knife on a string about his neck. At his feet, equally nude and happy, sprawled
Carruthers and the black-furred Mahbub Ali.
"Alex!" cried Tanni. She sped to the rock and stared up at her offspring, uncertain whether to kiss and
cry over him or turn him across her knee. "What are you doing here?"
Captain O'Neil spoke for the first time. "Thy mother was doubtful about coming, Little Frog."
"Oh, so you can talk!" said Tanni, glaring at him.
"He can't talk to you, Mom," said Alex.
"What do you mean, he can't?"
"But that's wolf talk, Mom. You can't understand it. I'll have to translate for you."
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"Wolf?"
"The Seeonee Pack," said Alex proudly. He nodded at O'Neil. "Thou hast done well, Akela."
"Argh!" said Mahbub Ali. "I run with no pack, Little Frog."
"By the Bull that brought me!" exclaimed Alex, contrite. "I forgot, Bagheera." He stroked the black
head. "This is Bagheera, Mom, the Black Panther, you know." Pointing to the erstwhile Carruthers:
"And this is Baloo the Bear. And I'm Mowgli. Isn't it terrific, Mom?"
"No, it isn't!" snapped Tanni. Now, if ever, was the time to take the strong line she believed in. "Captain
O'Neil, will you stop being Akela this minute? I'm here to rescue some very important people, and—"
"What says thy mother Messua?" asked the Captain—or, rather, Akela—lolling out his tongue and
looking at Mowgli-Alex.
The boy started gravely to translate.
"Alex, stop that!" Tanni found her voice wobbling. "Don't encourage him in this . . . this game!"
"But it isn't a game, Mom," protested her son. "It's real. Honest!"
"You know it isn't," scolded Tanni. "He's not really Akela at all. He should be sensible and go back to
being himself."
"Himself?" murmured Baloo-Carruthers, forgetting in his surprise that he wasn't supposed to understand
English.
"Captain O'Neil," explained Tanni, holding on to her patience with both hands. "Captain—"
"But he wasn't really Captain O'Neil either," pointed out Baloo.
On many occasions Tanni had listened sympathetically, but with a hidden sense of superiority, to her
husband's description of his latest encounter with Hoka logic. She had never really believed in all the
dizzy sensations he spoke of. Now she felt them. She gasped feebly and sat down in the grass.
"I wanted to let you know, Mom," chattered Alex. "The Pack's got Shere Khan treed a little ways from
here. I wanted to know if it was all right for me to go call him a Lame Thief of the Waingunga. Can I,
Mom, huh, can I?"
Tanni drew a long, shuddering breath. She remembered Alex, Sr.'s advice: `Roll with the punches. Play
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